Chapter Nine
Sterling
Spring arrived in full glory. Winter lost its grip on the land and with it the people of Sterling became busy. Planting season began. Every set of available hands was pressed into service. The spinning room was empty save for Enys now that there was good weather.
Days turned into weeks without the return of the earl. Anne spent the time working alongside Enys, grateful to escape the rest of the castle. Helen remained in Perth while her daughter was in childbed.
Anne missed her sorely.
Be truthful…you miss Brodick.
There was a wicked streak in her nature, to be sure.
It was boldly filling her dreams with heated memories of the nights she’d shared with her lover.
She saw his face, heard his voice and even sometimes felt his hands on her body, her slumber shattering as she sat up in bed, burning for fulfillment only to notice that she was alone.
That had to be sinful.
The shadows lengthened as another day ended with no return.
Anne drew a deep breath into her lungs to steady her nerves.
She had grown to loathe the night. Eating in the hall had become so stressful, she avoided it, scavenging what she could once most of the men had finished their meals.
The maids had only grown more cutting in their looks since no one checked their behavior. As mistress she should have.
Yet she lacked the heart to impose her will on them.
She was a sham. Maybe they even sensed her guilt.
Nobles were set above others by divine will.
There was great disagreement just where blue-blooded bastards belonged in that heavenly ordered precedence.
Was she beneath even the lowest beggar or above the maids giving her those frozen glares?
She did not know, so she did nothing, slipping away to work in the spinning room on some days. On the others she applied a needle to the clothing Mary had sent along with her. All of it had arrived back in her chamber without the alterations.
The quiet work suited her mood.
But the hours alone only encouraged her mind to think of Brodick.
Telling herself to banish such ideas didn’t stop his face from rising as she plied a needle.
Loneliness settled around like a dark cloak.
After a fortnight, it became comfortable.
She spent long hours thinking about her family.
Bonnie would be fifteen this summer; plenty old enough for that horrible marriage Philipa had threatened.
Anne shuddered, nausea twisting her stomach.
Bonnie was a ray of summer sunshine. Thinking about such an ill fate made her want to retch.
The fire had long since gone cold and no one came to rebuild it.
Anne left the coals, putting her surcoat on to stay warm.
She had never had a fire laid simply for her own pleasure at Warwickshire.
Since she was destined to return there, she should not become accustomed to the comforts she would have to leave behind.
She was much more worried about what Brodick would do when he discovered she was not the heiress bride he’d come south to fetch. A lump formed in her throat. Tears stung her eyes and she had to turn her back on the bed.
He would be furious.
Every moment of tenderness they’d shared would be dust once he knew the truth.
She dreaded the moment. Yet found no way to avoid it.
Unlike Philipa, Anne did not agree that Brodick would not notice the difference between her and Mary.
The only thing that was in question was just which of them would be in the room when he unearthed the conspiracy.
The nausea persisted, making the idea of food repulsive. More weeks passed. Many days went by without her speaking to a single soul. It was as if she were a ghost, moving through the castle, yet unseen by the rest of the inhabitants.
Philipa’s insistence that she work as a servant came to be a blessing as the staff of Sterling ignored her.
Anne knew her way about everyday work. In sooth, remaining busy was a kindness.
At least while she was washing her bed linens and clothing, her mind had something to mull over that was not the possible fate of her family.
Was her mother still alive?
That question haunted her. Philipa hated Ivy.
After years of hate poisoning Philipa’s soul, she was now black with rot.
Having found the courage to force Anne to leave with Brodick, it was very possible the mistress of Warwickshire had turned Ivy Copper out.
It might have been done the moment Anne disappeared from sight.
She had no way of discovering the truth.
At Sterling she was even more cut off from her father.
It was a muddle that even the clear spring weather could not melt away.
The sun warmed her face as she hauled water from the river to wash her laundry and still she felt chilled and shaky.
Her belly remained queasy, a tight knot that despised all but a few bits of nibbled bread.
Even that bland fare often turned her green.
She fell into a routine. Rising with the sun and sleeping as soon as it set.
The candles in her chamber had long since burned low.
She couldn’t think of a good reason to burn another one since she only had her own needs to see to.
It would be a waste of a good resource. A habit she didn’t need to foster in herself.
Who knew where she might find herself come next spring and under what circumstances.
Brodick would turn her out when he discovered the ruse. Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away. Crying was foolish.
Still she could not stop the flood of regret that hit her.
He was a fine man who treated his wife kindly, far more tenderly than many.
Even with his staff being so cold to her, there was much about her life at Sterling to covet.
If it were her home, she would take the staff in hand.
But she remained an outcast because she knew that she was not the true mistress of the house.
She was the lord’s leman at best, and even that would end when Brodick became wise to Philipa’s game.
With no fire, she often slept in the surcoat, its sturdy fabric a welcome comfort in the chamber. Once huddled beneath the coverlet, she was quite warm. If only her heart could be thawed by the fabric.
That would surely be too much to hope for.
Home
Brodick didn’t care if Cullen teased him.
He was happy to be headed home. It wasn’t the first month he’d spent on the trail.
A harsh truth that it wouldn’t be his last either.
But tonight, he was following the moon back to Sterling.
It set his heart to pounding and his mind to thinking about his sweet wife.
He caught Cullen staring at him.
“No teasing remark, Brother? Are ye sure yer nae feeling fevered?”
His brother didn’t grin. Instead he looked serious and older than his years.
“I’m contemplating the fact that I’m envious of ye.”
Druce reined in beside them. “Did I hear ye right? Was that actually wee Cullen admitting he can see the worth in marrying?”
Cullen glared at their cousin. “I always knew the value of the dowry but I didnae grasp the worth o’ having someone waiting on my return. That’s what I envy. Laugh if ye want, but ye’ve no one praying for yer skin, either.”
Druce frowned. “Maybe, I admit I’m beginning to see the benefits o’ such a thing. Possibly.”
Had she really prayed for him?
Only his mother had ever done that. His face heated just a wee bit as another part of him was far more interested in knowing if she’d dreamed about him.
Late at night, when the fire was low and her bed empty.
He’d thought about her every night on the trail, his back feeling the rocks more than he had in years.
“Well, I’d be most appreciative if one of ye would catch that daughter of McQuade’s and marry her. That way I’d nae have to chase his raiding clansmen across my land.”
“Bronwyn McQuade?”
Druce and Cullen both scowled as they spoke the name. Cullen shook his head in denial. “Yer harsh, Brother. Bronwyn is a shrew, more sour than Medusa.”
Druce chuckled. “I hear her pretty face is the lure she wiggles in front o’ men before unleashing her hellcat temper.”
“None o’ us have ever even been in the same room with the lass. Could be ’tis nothing more than a fable.”
“And I’ve no plans to change that, man.” Druce looked set in his opinion. “I want a sweet lass waiting for me, nae a battle of epic proportions every night.”
Brodick shrugged. “There were many who warned me against my bride. Told me the English bred weak women with tempers like the insane.” The top of the first tower of Sterling came into sight. “I’m humbly thankful that I’ve been shown otherwise.”
Brodick spurred his horse forward. Cullen and Druce watched him gallop towards his home.
“’Tis more enthusiasm than any man so newly wed should have.” Cullen didn’t sound as confident as he’d like. Envy was still riding him hard.
“Well now, I suppose maybe we’re the unlucky sods for nae having someone to make us that impatient.”
Cullen slid his cousin a raised eyebrow. “Does that mean yer taking another bit of thinking over Bronwyn McQuade?”
“Nae.” Druce said it too loudly.
Cullen smirked. “Nae? It sounds like ye might be thinking o’ it.”
Druce snickered, his voice low and mocking. “You first, laddie. I want to make sure she’s fed before I go too close to her claws.”
“Och well, nae every man has the amount o’ courage I’m blessed with.”
A couple of retainers laughed at Druce’s expense. He pointed a finger at Cullen. “I cannae wait to see ye tame her. Ye won’t be the first man she’s sent howling from her with his tail between his legs.”
Cullen frowned as more heads turned to listen in on their conversation. Druce smiled, enjoying his discomfort.
“Unless ye’ve lost some o’ that great courage, cousin.”
Chuckles surrounded him, raising his temper. “We’ll see.”
“Will we? I cannae wait.” Druce smirked. “Truly I cannae.”